


Five Bets Steve Cortez Lost to James Vega

by gamerfic



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: 5+1 Things, Banter, Bets & Wagers, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-07 15:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7719334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamerfic/pseuds/gamerfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...And one time they called it even.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Bets Steve Cortez Lost to James Vega

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mautadite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mautadite/gifts).



"I raise," Cortez says as he flips another chip into the pot. "Five credits."

"Too rich for my blood," says the marine to his left. "I fold."

"Your bet, Vega," says the engineer to Cortez's right. "If you can even match him."

Vega frowns at the empty green felt of the poker table in front of him. "Not with chips." An abrupt, brilliant grin splits open his scarred face. "But I figure my shirt's worth at least five credits, right?"

Cortez can only stare as Vega slowly peels off his T-shirt and tosses it on the table. Beneath the thin grey fabric, his hairless, tattooed chest looks even more sculpted than it does when he's in uniform. "Jesus Christ, Vega," the marine groans, averting her gaze. "You always find an excuse to show off."

"This ain't showing off," says Vega, even as he's flexing his biceps. "I just don't like losing."

"Check," says Cortez, trying not to let on how flustered he feels. It's not like he was unaware of Vega's physique during all those hours spent working alongside him in the cargo bay, but this is the first time he's ever sat across from him at the regular Thursday night poker game in the Normandy's port observation deck. And maybe now that he's decided to stop tormenting himself with memories of Robert, he's finally given himself permission to notice.

"Thank God," says the marine.

"All right, Esteban," says Vega. "Let's see what you've got."

Cortez flips over his cards. "Two pair, jacks and eights."

" _¡Pinches cartas!_ Ace high."

"Looks like that does it for you, Vega," says the engineer as she gathers up the cards.

"Says who? I got plenty more clothes left."

"Keep your fucking pants on," says the marine.

"What? I'm just trying to win my money back from Esteban the card shark here."

"Then let me give you a chance." Cortez is all too aware of the other soldiers' eyes on him. He still can't decide whether he wants what's happening to play out or not, but he knows he doesn't want it to happen in public. He shoves half his chips, and Vega's wadded-up shirt, across the table. "You and me, Mr. Vega. One more hand. Let's see who comes out ahead."

"Sure - so long as you get naked if you lose."

"For that to happen, I'd have to lose first."

"Then deal us in," Vega says, suddenly serious.

Cortez's heart sinks when he sees his hole cards - two of hearts and seven of clubs, total trash. Each flip of a card in the center only makes things worse. Vega raises again and again, and all Cortez can do is follow along and hope he's bluffing. When it ends with both of them all-in, Vega's showing a full house and Cortez is still stuck with flat nothing.

"Good game," says Vega as he puts his shirt back on. "I'll collect on what you owe me some other time." He saunters away, smirking, leaving Cortez to wonder, as he so often does, exactly what Vega means.

* * *

A few days later, Vega finds Cortez in his bunk. "Hey, Esteban. You're a Sorcerers fan, yeah?"

"I am. Why?"

"They're playing Guadalajara today. Exhibition match for the troops out on the colonies, and it's actually showing up on our extranet feeds, for once. Me, I think the Eagles have this one in the bag, but if I'm wrong and your money's on the Sorcerers, I'm willing to call us even from our poker game the other night. What do you say?"

"You're on."

Later that afternoon, Cortez joins the crewmembers gathered around the projection screen in the mess hall. Vega passes out beers for everyone as the biotiball game begins. Throughout the match, he chatters constantly, heckling and trash-talking and shouting at the players, and it would be annoying if he weren't somehow so goddamn _charming_ while doing it. At least, that's how he seems to Cortez.

The Seattle team is in trouble from the start. Guadalajara takes an early lead, and the Sorcerers fight hard but never manage to make up the gap in scoring. Maybe it's the beer, or the festive atmosphere in the mess hall, or the firm muscles of Vega's thigh against his as they sit next to each other on the crowded sofa, but Cortez can't find it in him to care much when his team loses. "Looks like you owe me after all," Vega says cheerfully as the crowd disperses.

"Looks like I do," says Cortez. "Give me a couple days for my pay to come through, and we'll settle up."

" _No pasa nada._ I know you're good for it."

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

"So, what about the rest of it, then?" Vega says as Cortez is walking away.

Cortez's mouth goes dry and his heart rate picks up. "What do you mean?"

"You wanna get technical about it, you lost your clothes in that poker game too. You planning on delivering?"

Cortez shakes his head and turns away again. He's not sure where this is going or where he wants to take it, and he certainly doesn't want Vega to see how red in the face he's becoming. "I'm not convinced you want to see that, Mr. Vega."

But if nothing else, Cortez is certain of what Vega calls to him as he's leaving: "You might be surprised at what I like to see."

* * *

Vega's doing pull-ups when Cortez approaches him in the cargo hold. "Good workout, I hope?" asks Cortez.

"Good enough." Vega drops from the bar with a satisfied grunt and flexes his shoulders. The movement sends every muscle in his chest rippling in a hypnotizing pattern. "You just come over here 'cause you like to watch, Esteban?"

"So what if I did?"

"I'd just hope you enjoyed the show."

Cortez can't tell if Vega is joking. He clears his throat. "Actually, Mr. Vega, I came over here to tell you I've transferred the credits I owe you to your account."

"Aww, too bad. Here I thought you were gonna suggest another bet, double or nothing. I had a great one in mind and everything."

"Out of curiosity, what was it?"

"Push-up competition."

"That hardly seems fair."

"Even if I did mine with one arm?"

"Okay, this I have to see. Loser buys the winner's drinks next time we've got shore leave on the Citadel?"

Vega claps a hand into Cortez's outstretched palm. "Got it."

Cortez feels Vega watching him as he stakes out a clear patch of floor. Emboldened, he takes off his jacket and undershirt before he can second-guess himself. Cortez knows he's nowhere near as cut as Vega, but judging by the satisfied smile on Vega's face, Vega likes it anyway. Cortez lies down and slips his hands beneath his own shoulders, the metal deck plates hard and cold against his bare skin. "Ready...set...go."

Vega counts in Spanish at a steady tempo, exertion barely evident in his voice. Cortez wants nothing more than to turn his head and watch, but if he gives into temptation he might as well concede defeat already. All the same, somewhere north of fifty push-ups he starts to shake and decides to call it quits. He slumps to the ground, arms limp and burning, and rolls toward Vega to take in the spectacle at long last.

Vega is still counting off each perfect push-up, left arm bent behind his back as his right arm inexhaustibly raises and lowers his entire bulky form. He bangs out a solid dozen more reps before he realizes Cortez has quit, and lets himself fall into a boneless heap. "Shit, Esteban! Were you ever gonna tell me you gave up?"

Cortez shrugs. "I knew I couldn't beat you, even one-armed. It's like you said - I only came over here because I like to watch."

 _"Pendejo,"_ Vega mutters, and slugs Cortez in his aching shoulder. But there's real affection in his tone, and a teasing tenderness behind the touch that tells Cortez this isn't just comrades-in-arms playing around. Not anymore.

* * *

"Check that dude out," Vega shouts above the music in Purgatory as he elbows Cortez in the ribs. He inclines his head toward a C-Sec officer trying to chat up a disinterested-looking blonde human woman in a short black dress. "She is so far out of his league. He's got no prayer."

Cortez shrugs and swigs his drink. "He might get lucky. Maybe she likes playing hard to get."

"You wanna bet? Loser buys the next round."

"Deal." Cortez can hardly get any farther in the hole than he already is; as he suspected, it takes far more than the average number of overpriced Citadel cocktails to satisfy a man like James Vega.

The two of them don't have to observe for long. A statuesque asari with a drink in each hand strides across the dance floor to the blonde woman. The human turns her back on her would-be suitor and, to drive the point home, kisses the asari theatrically and passionately. "That settles it," says Vega as the human and the asari melt into the crowds on the dance floor, arm in arm.

"You got me," says Cortez. "What's your poison?"

"I've had enough to drink for now," Vega says, and extends his hand. "I'll take a dance instead."

Cortez doesn't want to argue. He takes Vega's hand and lets him take the lead. The dance starts out tentatively, awkwardly, but within a few minutes the space between them has dwindled to practically nothing. Vega's hands are on Cortez's hips, pulling him closer, and Cortez can't be sure which of them initiates it but in another heartbeat or two they're kissing. It's a fierce and hungry thing, all tongues and clashing teeth, and Cortez doesn't want it to end even though it has to. When it does, he feels Vega's hands on his ass, pulling the two of them even closer together as Vega takes up a slow grinding rhythm. "People are staring at us," Cortez says, out of breath.

"Fuck, Esteban. Does it look like I give a shit?" 

* * *

"So what do you like for an assault rifle, Esteban?" Vega calls from across the cargo bay. "Let me guess, you're a Vindicator man."

"Mattock, I'd say," Cortez replies.

"Really? Doesn't hold up to a fully modded Revenant if you ask me."

"Maybe if your goal is to spray everything twenty meters in front of you with bullets. That doesn't sound very efficient. I'm a one shot, one kill kind of guy."

"Yeah, I'll bet you are," Vega says, making the words sound thoroughly obscene. "I just hope the Reapers give you plenty of time to reload that slow-ass piece of shit."

"You wanna take this to the range sometime, Mr. Vega? We'll each take shots with both guns and see which one performs better. I've got fifty credits on the Mattock."

"Sounds like your kind of bet, making guys shoot off."

Vega keeps talking, babbling something about weight versus rate of fire ratios, but Cortez doesn't listen. He's already striding across the cargo bay to Vega's workstation, coming up behind and wrapping his arms around Vega's broad chest. Vega's words abruptly trail off as Cortez presses hot kisses into the place where his shoulder meets his neck, slips both hands up under his shirt to stroke the bare skin underneath. He slides one hand even lower, past Vega's belt, and feels Vega already stiffening in his grip.

"Damn right it is," Cortez whispers hoarsely in Vega's ear. "You wanna bet I get you there first?"

Vega's hips jerk involuntarily. Cortez stifles a moan. "Nah, you let me at you, Esteban, I'll have you coming like a horny teenager again. First I'm gonna-"

"Anybody down here?" Commander Shepard shouts from somewhere near the elevator.

The two of them separate as quickly as they came together. Vega pretends to find his workbench utterly fascinating, while Cortez hurries back to help Shepard with the procurement terminal while hoping his uniform trousers are doing anything at all to conceal his arousal. He knows Vega is watching him as he works, and stifles a grin. It won't be long now before both of them are satisfied. After all, once a bet's been made, neither one of them knows how to fold.

* * *

"Okay," says Vega to Cortez as they're lying naked together in the back of the Kodiak, panting, sweat and other fluids drying on their skin. "We're gonna have to call that one even."

Cortez grins and rolls toward Vega for another kiss. "Bet you can't do it again."


End file.
